


The Heart of Mad Men

by SierraBlanca



Series: The Lone Knight and the Sleeping Beast [7]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sleeping Beauty Fusion, Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, Humiliation, Interspecies Sex, Jotunn | Frost Giant, Light Sadism, M/M, Middle Ages, Power Imbalance, Sexual Slavery, Submission, The Nine Realms, Ásgarðr | Asgard (realm)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 16:59:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9394655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SierraBlanca/pseuds/SierraBlanca
Summary: He tossed the last grape in the air, and Loki darted up to catch it in his mouth. He succeeded, and after yielding to yet another kiss from his Lord he came back to his seat; seeming almost diffident. He rearranged his garments and combed his messy black curls, trying to keep some modesty. Anthony fought not to smile at the sight. He hadn’t been like this, in their first night together. It was his time as a slave, short as it was, what had made him so compliant. He didn’t mind the change. He much preferred to have a reserved, yet obliging courtier, than have a rebellious one.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Warning!!! This is a extremely dark story, so I strongly recommend you not to read it unless you are into non-consensual stories. I treat sexual slavery here, as well as abusive/unhealthy relationships, so if you feel that this is not your thing, I advice you to look for another work in the fandom. There are plenty of them and very good ones :) For the ones who stay, feel free to go down the rabbit hole!

Anthony was finishing his supper when his courtier was brought to him, that night. The library had been humming with life, torches flaring in the long, high vaulted corridors; the scholars going about with their bulky tomes and their long, ancient scrolls, taking over every stand, chair and table in sight. Trying to get away from the crowd, the Lord had settled in a secluded section, far away from the entrance doors, and was now taking his meal at a narrow desk. Several errand boys were standing around him with papers for him to sign, and the sound of their footsteps moving across the room and the cracking of the torches made it difficult for him to concentrate.

Loki was seating besides him; looking down at the floor, as was his costume. He wore a black silk tunic trimmed in silver and lined by pearl buttons; over that, a clear summer coat that covered his shoulders, almost reaching his knees, and that was kept in place by a golden tiepin. Since the neck of the tunic was loosely laced, his collarbone could be easily appreciated, as well as the firm muscles of his legs in the long tight breeches. He appeared radiant to him.

Anthony took a few more bites of his meat as a plate was set down on the table for the Jotnar. He drank quietly from the wine he poured in a goblet for him, and ate the meat as delicately as he could while only using a fork and a butter knife. For now, the Lord didn’t felt comfortable trusting him something sharper. He seemed to know that he was watching him, but refused to return the gaze; quietly staring down at his plate. The Lord disliked this display of apathy, and as he put an arm around his broad shoulders, he ordered the creature to look him in the eye. Reluctantly, Loki complied, and the Lord’s immediate reaction was to kiss him on the cheek; reviling in the feeling of the cold skin against his dry lips. He feed him bits of cheese, then, and small pieces of fruit, as some of his lovers had done for him in the past, while trying to seduce him, and left a soft trail of kisses down his neck.

He would have done anything to show him how pleased he was with his behavior of the last few days, and quite suddenly he remembered that he had not kissed his courtier when he was first brought to the library. He made up for this immediately. The Jotnar didn’t deny him, and went as far as to answer the contact; in a slow, almost timid way, while curving long, delicate fingers around the back of his neck. The smell of soap and aromatic herbs that lingered on him from that morning’s bath was delicious to him. Later, Anthony fed him a handful of grapes one by one, making him lean out of the chair and over his arms so he might let them fall inside his mouth.

Loki was unsmiling as he did this; silent and withdrawn, as he usually was while being in his Lord’s presence. There was, however, a new mildness about him that made him seem less anguished than before; his expression showing not so much of anger, but of calm. Perhaps he was glad to know that, despite his natural rigor when it came to discipline, his Lord was not cruel enough to truly harm him while making use of his services. Maybe he was just tired of embitterment, and willing to relish in an occasional coddling; as long as it kept him from facing any more pain. Whatever reason he had, Anthony felt satisfied.

He tossed the last grape in the air, and Loki darted up to catch it in his mouth. He succeeded, and after yielding to yet another kiss from his Lord he came back to his seat; seeming almost diffident. He rearranged his garments and combed his messy black curls, trying to keep some modesty. Anthony fought not to smile at the sight. He hadn’t been like this, in their first night together. It was his time as a slave, short as it was, what had made him so compliant. He didn’t mind the change. He much preferred to have a reserved, yet obliging courtier, than have a rebellious one.

 

* * *

 

That night, Loki had almost been forced to dine with the slaves. He was taken to the hall a few hours after dawn, when a servant arrived to the chambers to lead the harem downstairs. He was, obviously, new in the service, for he made no distinction between Loki and the courtesans at the moment of escorting them, and refused to believe him when he pointed out that he was supposed to take his meal with Lord Stark. For the first time since his arrival to the Palace, he was forced to go down to the Servant’s Hall, and what he saw there didn’t please him.

As he made his way into the room, he saw two long rows of men and women seating across the banquet table; all with their heads bowed, their eyes down, and with their hands moving over the plates of scarce, unappetizing food. Some wore elegant clothes, as they were courtesans and courtiers, and always had to look their best for their Lords. The majority of them, however, were committed to more tiring, laborious tasks, and only wore humble white robes, with little to no decoration. They were bent over so that, as he passed, Loki saw the row of matted heads and hunched backs; feeling strangely shocked by the sight of so many of them. They were all alike, and yet, somehow different. The rude, unkind and earsplitting way they spoke to one another had alarmed him.

He stood out particularly for his horns, eyes and skin color, and that had only made things worse for the Jotnar. He couldn’t even count how many spiteful, questioning glances were thrown at his way. Joan had taken him by the hand, as if trying to console him, but he found that the gesture gave him little solace. He couldn’t imagine himself having dinner in such a loud, crowded and unwholesome place. There was nothing better to say about the food they were being served. Just the smell irritated him. When he was told, moments after taking a seat, that his Lord had required his presence in the library, as he had done it almost every night at dinner time since their arrival, Loki felt almost relieved.

Now, he was in the chambers again, down on his knees before Lord Stark; naked and only a few inches away from his royal bed. The tortuous golden ring that had been restraining him since early hours of the morning had been finally removed, and he could feel a first stirring of desire making his member throb. He didn’t know what to do with these feelings anymore. He had sworn to himself that he would never take pleasure from Lord Stark’s torments again, and yet, whenever they took place, he never failed to desecrate his vow. The self-loathing he felt couldn’t be described in words.

He lowered his head without thinking, and kissed his Lord’s boots; knowing that this gesture alone would make the evening more bearable for him. He felt all too eager to please, after what he’d witnessed in the Slave’s Hall that night. If he was to remain a courtier for the rest of his life, he’d rather do it decently and in his Lord’s good graces. “It’s very late.” The man said, patting his head slightly as he left a thin trail of saliva over his footwear. “You must be tired, as I am. Shall we make it a short session?” Loki lifted his head at the question and nodded slightly at his Lord, knowing better than to refuse this leniency. He then rested his head against the man’s knee, as a pet asking to be scratched, and felt a shiver run down his spine as a hand came down to caress his hair.

“Come.” The Lord said, rising up from the bed. “I don’t want you to walk. Crawl, as I taught you.” He ordered, and crossed, but not surprised, the Jotnar complied. The man strolled towards the wardrobe and Loki followed on his hands and knees. He would have liked to be able to walk, while these sessions took place; be able to choose what he wanted and what he didn’t wanted to do, and stop whenever he started to feel afraid. Perhaps, if he had been granted these wishes, he would have been able to enjoy them without shame. This was but a fantasy, of course, and as his Lord turned around with his hands on his hips, looking down at him with ferocious eyes, the Jotnar found himself trembling. He remembered the spanking from last night, the crawling and the slapping of his sore member, and shuddered.

Lord Stark was reaching into the drawers of the wardrobe now, taking out what looked like a handful of small jingle bells. “Come here, pet.” He said softly, kneeling on the floor; gesturing for him to get closer. Loki complied quickly, seating before him and over his calves. He put both of his hands at each side of the Jotnar’s face, and gave him a quick kiss on his right cheek. “Tell me, have you ever attended a Lord in his bedchamber, in the way handmaids are taught to do?” He asked, and the mere question caused such an indignation in Loki that he could feel himself flush. He fought not to make a face, thought, and preparing himself for whatever shameful task he was about to be put through, the Jotnar shook his head.

The young lord lifted the bells in front of him, so he might see them, and Loki noticed that they were tied together by a short linen cord. Before he could protest the Lord placed them around his neck, as if they were some sort of accessory, and gave the cord a couple of twists so it wouldn’t fall on the floor and make him trip. It was not tight enough to choke him; he was wary nevertheless, fearing that the man might be interested in yet another session involving strangulation. He watched as he tied the cord around his arms as well, and then without meaning to, took a breath that made the bells ring ever so faintly. They weren’t heavy.

He was told to spread his legs and sit still, and he obeyed, noticing that the Lord was taking even more bells from the wardrobe. These ones were smaller, but more in quantity. Lord Stark knelt in front of him again, and Loki whimpered slightly as he felt his hands between his legs, quickly tying the linen cord around his half hard member. The bells touched his thighs, making a light sound. They tugged on him and bit into his flesh slightly. The Lord allowed him to stand, then, and rewarded his silence with a kiss.

“Bring my clothes from the wardrobe and lay them on the bed. You’re going to dress me.” He said, and Loki hurried to obey. He had the clothing down from its hooks and laid it over the bed, watching through the corner of his eye how the Lord took a seat next to it. He took the leather lacings of the man’s surcoat between his fingers, pulled loose the knot and saw them open. Then, the Lord pulled the coat over his head and gave it to him, so he might fold it and put it aside. He got on his knees again, and went to work unfastening the garment’s many buttons. Loki was nervous, and it showed in the way his fingers moved. He felt too conscious of the man’s body; its cologne and its warmth; the soft, tender skin hiding beneath the layers of cloth.

He managed to remove the dark long shirt, and then did the same with the tight fustian breeches. Now and then his Lord would aid him, but most tasks he performed himself; learning every detail of the other man’s wear; every muscle and curve of his body. He put the white silk undershirt on him with both hands as he slipped his arms into it. He then laid the placket of buttonholes in place with his hands, and slowly drew each button through. Lord Stark was very pleased, and commended on him occasionally. It seemed a long time that he labored, until he finally took the upper lip of the velvet lined boots and pulled at the heels with his hands, making them slip off.

He grew tired; the linen cord surrounding his body bothered him, and he could feel the weight of the other bells between his legs, and that maddening stroking of his thighs and the jingling sound which never quite died away. At least, he thought, his task had come to an end, and as he stood up from the floor on aching limbs, Lord Stark took him in his arms and kissed him. Loki pressed his chest against the man’s, longing for him; yearning for a release that had been denied to him for far too long. “Kiss me, Loki.” The young lord said, pushing him forward so that he was straddling him. “Kiss me as if you wanted me back.”

The Jotnar found the request strange, self-deprecating as it was, but couldn’t find in himself the strength to deny the Lord. He put his lips against the cold smoothness of his forehead, and then the dark locks of his hair, against his eyelids and long eyelashes. He kissed his cheeks, and then then his open mouth. A tongue made its way inside to touch his, and Loki felt his whole body grow weaker. Arms moved down his back, exploring the muscles there in an almost sensual way. He could feel a hardness groping against his stomach, hot and pulsing; as a promise of the pleasure to come. Then, the man kissed the skin of his throat, right beside the jawline; his lips lingering there for a while, as if to feel the heart beating underneath.

“Why must you be like this?” Loki murmured, knowing that he was disobeying but not caring. Thousands of questions had been haunting him since that morning's encounter, and he wouldn’t find peace until he was given satisfactory answers. “Why must you play games? Why must you be cruel and then kind, never deciding for one of the two? Can’t you just have me please you, in the way a whore pleases her clients in a brothel? Without pain. Without anguish. Just pleasure.”

The hands exploring his skin came to a stop. For a while, there was a turgid silence. As he looked up at him, Lord Stark’s face became grave, but not angry. “You’re making me questions that are very hard to answer, Loki.” He said, passing a hand down his neck and over his chest. As the Jotnar breathed, the bells around his body made a faint sound. He felt his hands between his legs, and then his fingers gripping his member, stroking him in an upward motion that made him arch his back with pleasure. "How can I explain you what it feels like? To have a person of your own? To have someone to love and kiss and coddle, when you’re happy, but that you can harm, without guilt, when you’re not?” He said, passing a warm tongue over the Jotnar’s exposed neck. Loki felt himself tremble, suddenly wary of the course that this session was taking.  

“In some former life you were many things. A brave warrior. A handsome face. An obedient son. But you've shed that skin as if it were a cloak of dreams, and now you only get to keep the parts of yourself that I enjoy. I’ve made you mine. All mine.” The Lord stroked the tip of his organ slowly, and pulled slightly at the skin that covered it, making the Jotnar shiver with want. He was fighting not to make a sound. He didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. “I’m kind to you, Loki, because I need someone to love, and there’s no one else. I’m cruel to you because I’m angry, and I need someone to hurt. There’s nothing more to it.” He kissed the Jotnar’s neck again, and then roughly grabbed him by the hair, forcing him to see him in the eyes. “It is not about you, you see? It’s about me, and all the things I need and yet I do not have.”

“I don’t understand.” Loki answered, finding that, at the moment, his mind was not sound enough to formulate any other phrase. A type of fear that was entirely new to him had taken a hold of his heart, and wouldn’t allow him to move a single muscle. Awe, confusion, sadness, hatred; all these feelings were swirling inside him, cruelly twisting his lower stomach. Fingers were still moving greedily around his cock; nursing the tip of it, enlarged and hot, and then going up and down alternatively, all along the small kernel of flesh.  

“It’s alright. You don’t have to.” The Lord answered, letting go of his hair and moving closer; their noses almost touching. Slowly, hesitantly, Loki leaned into the kiss that was been offered to him. Then, as if he could not help himself, Lord Stark threw himself over the Jotnar, and they both feel over the soft cushions of the royal bed; making the ensemble of bells ring loudly in the dark. There were caresses, and more kisses. An alluring exploration of the body that so far Loki had not experienced when pleasing his Lord. Hands passed over his hips slowly, and then moved languidly towards his knees, then his calves, then his ankles. The man placed a kiss, quick and soft, over his inner thigh, and went lower; circling the warm skin around his member with his tongue. As Loki muffled a betraying moan, the bells around it ringed slightly.

The Lord knelt over the mattress, and prodding fingers came to work the orifice between his legs; trying to soften the tiny knot of flesh there. When he was ready, Lord Stark’s hard, throbbing member drove into him with a quick downward motion; making the sore skin of his insides burn with the force of his thrusts. Loki lifted his legs and surrounded his hips with them, caring little about the pain awakening inside him; relishing in the feeling of being filled, and ignoring everything else. He got tight around the cock inside him, trying to please it as best as he could, yet all he did was lay back helpless for the man made the trust himself; eagerly moving inside him, pushing against all his warm, fleshy walls.  He closed his eyes, enjoying the delicious smell of his cologne, tasting the saltiness of his skin; loving the member that so greedily stroked his insides.

The bells kept ringing, filling the room with their high, jingling sounds. Loki was moaning in time with the Lord’s movements, and when suddenly he drew himself out, he gasped, feeling a warm hungriness inside him protest. The man laid down on his full length, then, and parted his legs even more, pulling away the thin linen cord surrounding his cock. The sensitive skin ached as he did so. He drove into him again, then, hard and deeply, roughly gripping his throbbing member, and Loki felt something hot and fiery inside him explode. His back arched so rigidly that he lifted the Lord’s weight along with his.

He pushed forward with his hips in an almost snapping motion, desperately looking for release; his whole body was drenched in a voracious heat. When he came at last, feeling his insides being filled by a warm, vicious substance, he loved the cruel final thrusts that were given to him. Lord Stark let himself fall over him, exhausted, relishing on the feeling of his orifice tightening around his cock. He came out of him, then, and gave a satisfied sign. Loki felt dizzy with the force of his orgasm, feeling the warm, vicious drops of his seed running down his thighs. The young lord took the time to remove the bells surrounding his body, despite his somnolence. He put them aside, too tired to stand to return them to the wardrobe, and came back to the warm, cozy place that he had found over Loki’s chest. He feel asleep shortly after that, and so did the Jotnar.  

That night, he dreamed again. It was a strange, lurid dream, from which he would remember very little the next morning, besides that well known advice that his Lord had given to him, not long ago, and that kept roaming his thoughts every once in a while, after enduring particularly bad sessions. “You are as a tight bowstring. And the pain loosens you, makes you soft as I want you to be. Do you know what I am saying? Don’t fight it. Yield before it, like you’ve done now, and it will stop.”


End file.
